And The World Will Know
by Brooklynnx
Summary: Movieverse. Coauthored by Liliaeth. One glimpse was all it took one moment of being caught on tape and Peter's life would never be the same.
1. Prologue

When he got to work that day, there had been no indication that this day would be different from any other he'd had since he s

When he got to work that day, there had been no indication that this day would be different from any other he'd had since he started working for the station. Joe simply took his place behind his desk, receiving footage right from the scene, while the cameramen sent the feed right through to them. Not like it was all that big a distance. It made things easier for the technicians when they didn't have to sit in some cold van freezing their butts off while they tried to make some sense out of the live footage. 

It was during the fight that Joe noticed it. It surprised him that he was the only one that did, probably because of the camera he was focusing on. Lisa and Dan were working on the right camera; it was the clearest one with the best lighting on it. He quickly looked around the television studio, hoping that none of his colleagues were eying the same screen. Joe was nearly shaking. While the others were focusing on the Sandman or Venom, Joe had discovered gold. He stared at the screen, at the young man on it. The young man whose mask had been ripped off during the fight. It didn't last long, just a few seconds, not even a minute, but there you had it. 

Joe traced his fingers over to his controls and paused the video footage that he'd been assigned with. He cleared the image, smoothing the magnification. The pixels united, creating an answer; the answer to the most amazing question that all of New York had been asking for two years now. Joe took a deep breath and stared at the face on the screen. 

The face of Spider-Man. He looked almost ordinary. Not some movie-star quality look, not a monster, not even some vaguely known semi-celebrity or eccentric billionaire.

How could no one else have seen this? Was he the only one doing his job correctly around here? He shook his head in disbelief, looking at the man's features. After being sure he had not met or seen the man, despite the unremarkableness of the face in front of him, he thought about his options. This could be _it. _The entire world would know... he'd probably be recognized as well, and rewarded. He smiled. Wow. Spider-Man's face. Spider-Man's actual face.

Joe nodded, contemplating his options. He nodded once again and decided. Quickly, he pressed the button that shut off the television monitor. He couldn't. Not after, not after what had happened with Tommy. Spider-Man has saved his younger brother from being hit by a car, right before Joe's own eyes. Tommy had just been standing there waiting in line to get into the theater while Joe had been on the other side of the street. He'd been a bit late and Tommy and the girls were waiting for him at the door. They had been on their way to see _Avenue Q_. A car had lost control. Joe had stood there frozen – he could see the car heading for Tommy and the girls, and he knew he didn't stand a chance of saving them. He'd started screaming, thinking that there was no way he could ever face their parents after losing Tommy. He was supposed to protect the kid. And then a man came swooping out of the sky and stopped the car before it hit the crowd. He'd just jumped in front of it and stopped it dead. The police had tried to arrest him as soon as they spotted him, but it hadn't mattered, people had been in danger and Spider-Man had saved them. Such a man did not deserve to have his secret told without his consent.

Joe closed his eyes and ejected the disc. This was only recording available that could have cleared every debt he'd made in the past few months, it could make his life, get him a new, better apartment, and it might even pay the payment on Tommy's student loans. But he had to find a way to destroy it.

The others in the room cheered as a second man appeared and joined in the fight in the footage they were all watching. He was on some sort of odd glider. Where had Joe seen one of those before? It was right in the back of his head, something he'd known; something he should recognize. And not just because it looked like the guy was flying on some kind of snowboard. Spider-Man and the new guy teamed up, fighting the black-costumed monster and the Sandman and all through the fight. Joe held on to the tape in his pocket, to the hero's secret. The fight ended with a sudden roar of support for the home team within the room. 

Spider-Man had won again. He seemed quiet when he left, and his friend didn't fly off. They'd find out about that later. It didn't matter. Not to Joe when he touched the disc, just to be sure it was really there. That he hadn't imagined it.

"Intense! Great footage on the sand-guy!" Joe heard someone say. He felt the disc in his pocket, weighing him down. He had to rid himself of it...make sure no one else even caught a glimpse of its contents. 

He tried to exit the room without conversation, but that had been without thinking about Stevie. Stevie was like a big kid who had been working alongside Joe for three years now. A really big six foot tall kid dressed in a Brooklyn Dodgers jersey. He was immature, constantly happy and always smiling. Steve's eyes shined as he slapped his friend on the back. "Joey, my man!" Joe had a bit of a hard time staying on his feet under the friendly pat. 

"Can't chat, Stevie boy. No time no fuss."

"What's up?" Steve, of course, went right after him. Puppy dog eyes were begging for more answers to end his curiosity. Joe, sticking with his choice, stepped out of the room. He shut the door tight behind him and stood alone in the stairwell. He took the disc out of his pocket and analyzed it, trying to assure himself that it was the right choice.

Maybe history deserved this disc.

Not now of course, not when it could endanger the hero. But later- in a few years. Maybe after the Amazing Spider-Man had met his end. The guy couldn't always be lucky. He was only human after all. This tape could one day belong in the Smithsonian. Who was he to destroy it?

Joe felt a grin slip in. He felt the power of the disc he held. It was something people would pay for, people would beg for, people would kill for. He held it up to the light and nodded._ "Spider-Man..."_ He heard the door shut behind him.

"Say what, now?" Joe spun around. Steve was standing right behind him, eying him oddly. 

"Stevie… what if I told you I knew a secret? A secret so big, it could change the rest of our lives?" Steve opened his mouth to ask something, when they heard a crash of something outside of the door. Joe waited a moment to continue. "What would you say if I told you I had something that could make _history?"_

"I'd say you're being pretty damn dramatic over it, buddy!" he laughed. "But... really now. What do you got?" Joe smiled and showed Steve the disc, but not letting him get his fingers on it. 

"On here, my friend, is the face of Spider-Man." 

_"What?_ Are you joking—? Because if you are, it's not funny?" 

"No, I'm dead serious. I was running through the footage. One camera was shooting from the perfect angle. We got it. We got Spider-Man's face on this disc, right here."

"Oh my_ god_, man, if that's true, you could write your own ticket, you'd be set for life!"

Joe knew he would be, that was the worst part of it. "But I can't let anyone know, Stevie. If we do, the hero is as good as dead. And so is everyone he's ever cared about."

"You—you're serious now, are you? Dude, that is literally a thousand dollar disc, man. Do you have any idea how much the networks would pay for that?" Joe knew. "When did you start growing morals?" 

"You know he saved my brother. I told you. You know that..." Joe said. He hid the disc in his pocket again. "I'm sticking with it, Steve. No one sees his face. It's not fair. Not to him. Not after everything he's done."

"But _Joe!_ Think of the money you're throwing away..." his voice trailed off, ignoring he red-haired man standing in the stairwell just one flight above them. The man who held onto his mop; wringing it out tightly, as if he were draining the life out of it. Nobody who saw his smile would describe it as friendly.

The two friends began their descent down the stairs. "Come, on! Think about it!" Steve kept urging. Following after him, tracing his footsteps; as enthusiastic as ever.

"I _have,"_ Joe said. "And we are _not _making this public!" 

Steve stopped him at the landing two floors below. "If you change your mind, I want in!" Joe nodded and smiled as his friend left him alone in the stairwell, exiting through a door that stood beside a large number 5. Joe, deciding to go outside for a quick smoke, made his way down to the third floor. Suddenly he felt something strike him in the back of the head. He shouted and fell forward, crashing down the stairs. He felt the back of his head and looked at his hand. The blood he saw there almost made him vomit. He looked up to see a red-haired man with an evil smile on his face looking down at him.

The man dug into Joe's pocket. He pulled out the disc. "I'll take that," the man cackled. And before Joe realized what the man's intent was, he was knocked out with the butt of the mop. He didn't even have time to beg for mercy. The red-haired janitor whistled, feeling the disc safe in his own pocket now, leaving the body for someone else to find.


	2. After A Long Night

When he got to work that day, there had been no indication that this day would be different from any other he'd had since he s

1.

His dreams were filled with dark visions of black and red, blood and sand and pain. Harry's eyes going blank and closing and the Sandman's words hitting him like a sledgehammer. Peter could feel himself falling, his mask slipping off as dark slime abandoned him, leaving him naked and alone.

As soon as he opened his eyes, the pain surged within his body. His head was pounding, his vision was blurred. Peter reflected on the events that played out the night before by looking at his various wounds, and the ripped costume that was lying on the floor beside his bed. 

The alarm clock had crashed against the wall on the other side of the room, where he'd thrown it about an hour earlier when the music first woke him up. It wasn't the only thing that was broken. The phone in the hall had been down for two days, and the apartment's owner, Mr. Ditkovitch, was too busy counting pennies and lying sick in bed with a case of the sniffles to come out and fix it. Come to think of it, Mr. Ditkovitch hadn't gotten out of bed since last night. Peter had seen Ursula running back and forth getting him cough drops and warm water bottles. 

Struggling to get to his feet, Peter Parker, the Amazing Spider-Man, used all his strength to maneuver his way off his bed. He didn't feel all that amazing, and he was pretty sure he didn't look all that spectacular either. He picked up his costume from the floor, analyzing it for repairs. Venom and Sandman had done a number on him last night for sure. He held the mask in his other hand and stared into its one remaining opaque, white eye for some time in silence. Almost half the mask was gone, and it wasn't going to be easy to fix it.

He wondered if he had some spandex left to make a new one, or if he had time to buy one in a party store. He'd seen several of those being sold last Halloween. People, especially kids, seemed to love dressing up like him – he was their real life Superman made flesh and retailers loved the chance to use his likeness.

Peter exited his room and wobbled his way over to the bathroom he shared with the rest of the floor. It was currently unoccupied, and he closed the door behind him as he turned on the sink to wash his face. He looked in the mirror and saw all the cuts and scrapes. He went through the cabinets and took out some foundation he found, and prayed that Ursula, Mr. Ditkovitch's daughter, wouldn't mind him using it. But it wasn't like he could go to school looking like he'd just lost a fight. He hoped she'd understand.

He applied the cover-up and went though a cabinet and to find enough bandages for most of his wounds. He then exited the bathroom, throwing on a baggy long-sleeved shirt to hide his wounds. He looked at his costume one last time before he looked through what leftover material he had to fix it up. He knocked over a picture frame when he bumped into a nightstand, and when he looked at it, his heart sank. Harry. 

He held it for a second, desperate not to look into his dead friend's eyes, before gently placing it back on the nightstand. He got up and sat somewhere that he didn't have to look at it. Despite that, he still felt Harry's eyes on him. He tried to tell himself, like he always did, that Harry's death was not his fault. But he knew deep down it was. Just like Uncle Ben's. At times like these he just wanted to cry, to throw the mask away and stop letting his secret life harm everyone he cared about. But he had tried that, too. And that was no solution. He was Spider-Man. The city needed Spider-Man.

Uncle Ben. Norman Osborn. Now Harry... when would it end? Would it? Would being Spider-Man always cause death, even when he tried so hard to prevent it? He knew no one could answer these questions. And so, he cleared his mind and started to sew. Peter was far from a master in the art, but his costume needed to be repaired before he headed to school--not that he was in any shape to go.

God, he was hopeless! He nearly threw the fabric away over a dozen times, but in the end he managed to finish it. Just in time to look up at the clock and notice he was about fifteen minutes away from being late for class. 

As if that was new. Doctor Connors reprimanded him for his tardiness almost once every one or two weeks. But Peter knew it really couldn't be helped. There was one small tear across the torso of his costume, but Peter decided to save it for later as he quickly undressed, put his costume on and pulled his mask over his head. He pulled his regular clothes together and spun a web pack over them, attaching it to his back as fast as he could before jumping out of the window.

The New York City air filled his lungs, making him feel much better as he spun a webline and headed in the direction of the campus. He felt the clothes in the pack bouncing, and he wondered if he had spun it tightly enough. He could imagine the clothes falling out, creating a trace of fallen clothing behind him. 

Cars beeped at him when he swung above them, but Peter was accustomed to that. He was, after all, Spider-Man. He was an icon. People loved him... and hated him. He'd had both, crowds in his honor, and cops shooting at him. Nevertheless, Peter chose to assume that the honking of the horns was a way of cheering him on instead of seeing it in a more pessimistic manner.

After a few quick somersaults and some other acrobatics that would make Olympic-level gymnasts blanch in fear, he managed to land on the roof the university. He jumped from one building to another, careful to stick to the shadows, desperate to not be seen.

Stealth was never a problem for the Amazing Spider-Man, since his spider-sense always warned him of oncoming dangers and persons. But it was always better to be on the safe side. He found a spot he used frequently to change clothes – a corner that was hidden by a large oak tree, and unpacked his clothes to dress himself. He threw his web pack in the tree, afraid that someone might find it before it dissolved, and headed into the building. He had to race past several students in the halls as he headed to the classroom. He felt strange… were people staring at him? He shook his head. Nah, why would anyone pay any special attention to him? 

Peter looked at the clock as soon as he entered the classroom. One minute to spare--he loved the time that web swinging saved him. He made his way to his seat, and noticed there that people were staring at him, too. He pretended not to notice it, though it was very hard not to. He looked around the classroom to see that his lab partner, Gwen Stacy, had not yet arrived. He sat there, and suddenly he heard someone humming. The tune was so familiar. Wait...was that the Spider-Man _theme song?_

"Have a rough night, Parker?" someone asked him. Peter didn't see who it was, but he was about to reply when Doctor Connors entered the room, carrying his books with his hand pressing them against his chest. Peter was the first person he looked at. Quickly he called Peter over to his desk. Expecting answers to why people were acting so strangely lately, he rushed down. His professor simply sighed.

"Peter, have you...?" Connors looked at the class and pulled Peter's arm, then let it go a second later. "It's been on the news all morning."

"What's been? What are you talking about?" Peter asked. He didn't have the slightest idea what was going on, and utter confusion filled his face. Dr. Connors picked up a copy of the latest _Daily Bugle_ from his desk and handed it to Peter, as he knew no words that could tell him what the front page would. 

It was his face, with him wearing his Spider-Man costume. Maskless. The headline read, _"Parker you're fired." _With the smaller headline_, "Spider-Man's Face Revealed!—The man beneath the mask - Bugle Exclusive!" _right underneath itPeter set the paper down. He tried to catch his breath. The room was spinning. He started to sweat, and tears were scarcely visible at the corner of his eyes. He looked at Dr. Connors, who patted him on the shoulder. "I'm sorry, Peter."

Peter just shook his head. No, this couldn't be happening! Peter looked at Dr. Connors. 

"Now what?" he asked, as if his professor had all the answers.

"Peter, the police… they want to talk to you."

Peter fell up against the desk, nearly ready to fall down. He sat on the desk, staring at the front page of the paper. It was like a huge stone had taken residence in his throat and he couldn't breathe. He was gasping for air. He knew he was near to a panic attack, but he couldn't help himself.

"The... police..." Peter said. The police had never given him a reason to trust them. Now that his mask was off, they could do whatever they pleased to him. Peter took a deep, deep breath. 

He was trying to get himself calmed down and had almost succeeded. Then Brian, a student sitting in the first row, opened his mouth. "Hey Pete, can I have an autograph? I could use the money to pay my rent."

And then it hit him all over again.

Every eye in the room was on him. Doctor Connor was saying something, probably scolding Brian, but Peter was no longer listening. He needed to get out of there. He stared at the window and noticed that two cops were heading towards the class.

"Peter, it's all right," Doctor Connors tried.

But it wasn't. Then he noticed that the hatch on the ceiling was open, giving him a direct way out of the room. It was high, over two stories up, but for him it was like nothing. And he was desperate for an escape. He jumped on the desk and leaped straight up, clinging to the ceiling. His classmates pointed and gasped as he scurried through the hatch and went into the air ducts. He did not use them often, but he figured out how to maneuver in their cramped spaces soon enough. He finally got out on the roof. He walked over to the edge and looked down at the ground. 

There were news vans all over the campus and he just stared at them as he sat there. He was hyperventilating, but couldn't stop himself.

One of the reporters started yelling and soon all of them were staring his way, their cameras following his every move. Peter grabbed his mask and pulled it on, removing the rest of his outer clothing as he swung, letting them drop on the floor as he started moving away from the campus. He wasn't even sure where he was heading.

He swung away without even thinking about it. He was completely dumbfounded and confused. When he came to his senses, he was surprised to find himself at Norman Osborn's place. Even now, years after Norman was dead, he still couldn't see it as Harry's place. Because it had never been Harry's, not really.

Harry was dead. The cold truth sent shivers down his spine. Harry Osborn, who had watched over him that last year in high school, was dead. He shook his head. Harry... it was his fault. He knew it was. How could it not be? And aunt May, could he, couldn't he… His mind was out of sorts, jumping from one thought to the other, jumbling images and words. Newspapers and newsreports mixing in his mind breaking him apart with the thoughts of what they might be saying now. It was all too much, far too much. He would have liked to sit there for hours, just thinking on top of the tall building away from everything, but he knew he needed to see Mary Jane and his Aunt May. And Mary Jane was a closer swing from his current location, so he stood, swallowed, and leaped into the city.

He felt odd, pointless. Everyone knew what he looked like under his mask. Everyone knew the face that was taking the beatings, that was delivering the blows, that was saving the day. He regained his wits and continued swinging, realizing he was headed towards Mary Jane's apartment. Was she okay? He started swinging faster and faster as the building came into view. He swung around to the side of the building that her apartment faced, and landed on a rooftop across from her window. He could see very clearly that she was locking her door, putting a chair against it. Were the reporters sucking her for information, too? 

He stared at the window, trying to catch her attention.

"Talk to me MJ, please," he said aloud.

After a few moments she looked at him, meeting his eyes for a second before closing the curtains.

Peter sighed. Great! She hated him now. What else was new? Little did Peter know that it had not been the press that was knocking down her door, but the police; and by closing the curtains she bided Peter time and a long pursuit. In Peter's guilty frame of mind, he couldn't imagine her anything other than angry with him, so he left. He decided to go check on his Aunt May. 

What if this news gave her a heart attack, what if she needed him? He needed to explain, needed to see her more than anything.

Peter had nearly forgotten his aunt's new address. She just had to up and move, didn't she? The area around her new apartment was quiet. There were no police cars, no news vans... nothing. Peter, still in his Spider-Man costume, was still in panic-mode. He found her apartment window and nearly busted through the glass. His frame was heaving as he looked around. Aunt May was sitting on a couch, and facing her were two policemen. One Peter recognized as Captain Stacy, Gwen's father. But the other seemed young and insisted on giving Peter the stink-eye. The window was open and he climbed in through it.

"Peter?" Aunt May asked. Her voice was shaky, but she seemed okay. Her silver hair was pulled back into a bun.

"I'm sorry," was all he could think of.

He felt trapped, like any moment now the cops would start grabbing their guns and shooting at him. He had to get out, but couldn't think of a way out and he couldn't abandon Aunt May; he simply couldn't. He was all she had left.

"Sit down, Peter," Captain Stacy said. "It's okay. Sit down." 

Peter, realizing that running from the police would only make things worse, sat beside his aunt. Stacy smiled, unsure of what words to say. The cop had enough experience to see a kid about to break apart, no matter what the kid was wearing. The boy's shoulders were slumped and he didn't seem to dare to look at anyone, he was shaking and the only thing he ever really looked at was the window. Stacy pulled the other cop to his feet. "We'll give you two a moment," The two officers then went to the kitchen, the apartment was small enough that they'd hear whatever was said in the living room, but George didn't hold any illusions that they'd have any chance of stopping Parker if he really planned to leave. The only hope they had was for the boy to come willingly.

"Aunt May, I'm _sorry!_ I'm—"

"Peter, stop apologizing. You haven't done anything wrong," Aunt May said. She gently pulled his mask off his head, holding it tightly with her two hands. "I understand, Peter. It came as a shock, yes. No mother expects her son to be a _superhero."_

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I'm scared."

"Of course you are. And it's okay to be afraid. It will all be okay, Peter."

"I just wanted to be responsible. Aunt May. Like Uncle Ben always used to say—

'with great power comes—'"

"Great responsibility, yes," Aunt May finished. "And he was right, Peter. But responsibility also means you don't run away and hide when someone asks, 'Who did that?'" Aunt May saw Peter's face, and he seemed on the verge of tears. He touched his cheek and said, "I am proud of you, Peter."

Captain Stacy knocked on the wall, sorry to intrude. "Peter, I'm sorry, but I need to bring you in."

Peter stood and held his mask in his hand. He placed his wrists out in the open, inviting the officers to place handcuffs on them. "Let's get this over with."

Captain Stacy shoved his hands down to his sides. "We are _not _arresting you, Peter. We are just bringing you in for questioning. _We are not arresting you."_

Peter gulped and nodded. "I just wanted to help people."

_"Sure_ you did," the second cop muttered with a snippy attitude. Aunt May's glare made him back off instantly. 

Peter felt his aunt take his hand and look at him. "I'll wait for you here. I love you, I'm proud of you. You have nothing to be ashamed of and much to be proud of."

Then she gave him a sweater he'd left behind on his last visit. He was grateful, as walking around in nothing but his Spider-Man costume was a little awkward for him. Aunt May hugged him tightly and kissed his face. "I love you, Peter," she repeated. She walked him and the two officers to the police car parked a few feet from the back lot. She watched the officers drive away with the boy who was practically her son in the back seat. 

Her heart felt like it was ready to break. And then she imagined how Peter's heart must be feeling. 


	3. Over Donuts and Coffee

2

2.

Ben Urich was about to leave. He'd gotten a call from a source in the department earlier that had made him rush here about an hour ago. His source, who apparently wasn't as exclusive as he'd thought the man was, had told him that this would be the one. The big one, and the one that his boss had told them to find out about, if they didn't want to lose their jobs.

It was bad enough that the news networks had beaten them to the actual scoop, finding out Spider-Man's real face. And the _Bugle_ had then gone on to beat them to his real name. Admittedly because the hero had been hiding in their own staff, but still…Ben could imagine what Jameson had to be thinking, probably spitting nails by now.

Leaving them with what? A shot at seeing Parker arrive for a full interrogation, maybe an interview or two with the cops bringing him in? Some long shot of a chance at actually talking to Parker himself? Not that Ben expected that to actually happen. At best Parker might eventually decide on a press conference. He was a kid after all, he'd probably fall for the fame and the celebrity all too soon and before long you wouldn't be able to turn on a TV without seeing him guest on some talk show or be one of the celebrity contestants in one of the many game shows. 

None of that helped the matter that they were here in the cold, waiting for the big arrival. Ben patted the pack of smokes in his pocket. He was desperately trying not to light one; the pack just a reminder of his promise to his wife Doris that he'd stop smoking. But the longer he had to wait there, the harder it got to not just pull one out and take a good long drag.

Ben did not consider himself a sleazy reporter. But as more and more arrived to the supposedly exclusive spot, he wondered how he was any different. Cameras were already rolling and lights were already flashing, and Spider-Man wasn't even here yet! He stood there quietly in the chaotic mob, waiting for his story to arrive. He wondered how he'd write it up, he wondered if he'd gotten the story first, would he have cataloged it with that other file he kept in his drawers?

The cops tried to hold them back, and mostly it worked. It was successful for the sole reason that most reporters were smart enough to know that none of them would get a good shot if they got in the way. It was best to leave the police some space to get past. Not much, but some. 

They were almost too late as it was. An unmarked car with no lights flashing pulled up, and two detectives and a civilian stepped out; a young man, more like a boy. At first sight he seemed almost unobtrusive. Just a kid, dressed in a woolen sweater; his face showed some bruises. It wasn't until Ben looked at the boys pants that he got his first clue. Blue pants, blue tights and red boots. He was the first to notice him, but not the first to take a picture.

The kid held his hand up to shield himself from the lights and the cameras, cringing under the flashes. The two cops surrounded him and soon several others ran up to join them and keep the press away from the hero.

Ben noticed the kid's expression. Nothing. Not excitement, not pain. There was nothing there. His eyes stood frozen, he seemed in another world, completely oblivious to the swarming mob of reporters. His gaze dropped down to the ground as the officers led him through the doors to the station. Ben couldn't help feel sorry for his sake; he hoped the kid wouldn't crack under the pressure.

For Peter, it was like entering underneath a load of snow feeling everything fall still as he came through the door as of the most minor sound could set off the avalanche, finding himself the subject of a hundred glares. Happy, angry, indifferent, some didn't look at all. And some of them gave him the finger. Peter pretended not to notice any of them.

Part of him wanted to stop, simply stop, sink into the ground or back up against the wall and fall down and tremble. But he had to be strong, his Aunt May would want him to. Questions were thrown at the boy and at the cops, and all of them were ignored while Peter tried to pretend none of them were there. That was until he stopped almost in front of the station doors. And he saw her.

Ben wondered why the hero froze, and then he saw her – Joy Mercado, one of the _Bugle_'s top reporters. He remembered reading the _Bugle_ article; Parker had been working as a freelance photographer, he'd just joined the staff. Jameson would be rolling in his grave, if anything ever got him in it..

Ben saw Joy nod at Peter, smiling at him. Peter didn't smile back. He had nothing to smile about. "Jameson is going to love this," Joy said aloud to Peter. Ben snorted. As if the kid would care. And he was right. Peter didn't. Peter then entered the station, and Ben knew he had a story to write. He wondered if Joy would answer any questions about the kid, probably not, the _Bugle_ were going to have it hard enough trying to make something out of this and saving face. The article had made it clear that Parker was now fired. He thanked god that Parker hadn't tried to sell his pictures to the Globe, because Bushkin would have gone for them as quickly as Jameson did, probably faster.

Peter was frozen inside. He felt like he was floating out of his body, and he was screaming and he wanted to run and leave. The stares of the officers were worse than the ones he had received outside. The first thing he knew, without a doubt, was that he was not trusted. The station seemed to stop in time as Stacy led him through the hall. Peter was tempted to stretch and show them that he wasn't handcuffed, and that he was a 'good guy', but his mindset was far from confident at the time.

Captain Stacy opened a door. Peter peered inside. _Oh._ An interrogation room. Just what he was looking forward to. Peter stepped inside and sat in the metal chair set before a metal table. He had only seen how interrogations work through the movies and TV, and almost all of them did not involve a superhero.

"Do you want something to drink? Some coffee, a soda maybe?" Captain Stacy asked.

Peter was a bit startled but he nodded, "Some coffee, please."

The Captain smiled and went outside for a second. Peter could hear him order someone there to go on a caffeine run.

Peter twiddled his thumbs as he waited alone in the cold room. The sweater started to get itchy, and he started to sweat. He looked around and saw his face reflected in the full length mirror. No doubt people would be watching. People would be watching him all the time now. Mentally he planned an escape route, in case everything didn't go as planned. And as much as he hated crashing through glass, it was his best option.

He had been a quarter through tapping the Spider-Man theme song on the table when Captain Stacy entered the room with two cups of smoking hot coffee in ceramic mugs. He slid one across the table to Peter. 

"Thanks," Peter said. "A real ice-breaker." He took a sip, make that literal, he nearly spat it back out.

"I got something else for you." He put a bag on the table and opened it. It was filled with donuts. It smelled delicious.

"You're trying to put me at ease, aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

Peter wasn't sure – he kept looking at his reflection, fighting the inclination to make faces at the mirror and through it at the people probably staring at him from behind the glass.

"I guess."

"Then yes." Stacy sat down in front of Peter, eye level, making it impossible for Peter to keep ignoring him.

"So… how is this gonna work, exactly?" Peter asked, taking a donut, it was still hot. He grabbed a tissue to hold it around the donut and blew on his fingers.

"Just answer our questions honestly. That's it."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "That's it?" It seemed a bit hard to believe, especially considering the many close calls he'd had where police officers were involved.

Stacy nodded. "Peter, you've been involved in various crimes that the police have limited information on. Starting with the death of Norman Osborn."

Peter looked down. He'd just tried to help people, but how could he explain that? How could he even prove it?

The Captain leaned over the table.

"Peter, I know, and you know, that if you wanted to leave, there is nothing a single one of us in this building could do to stop you." He had that right. "Not without killing or severely harming someone, most likely you and neither of us want that to happen. But we need to ask these questions. There's more about stopping a criminal, than just beating him up and tying them together in some kind of web cocoon or whatever you call those things."

Peter nearly rose out of his chair, looking the captain in the eyes for the first time since he came in.

"Then what am I supposed to do? Just let them go, let them harm innocent people?"

"You know that's not what I meant, Peter," Captain Stacy said and Peter wished he'd just stop calling him Peter, the very name sent shivers down his spine.

"Then what do you mean?"

"I'm not about to say that some members of the NYPD don't hold a grudge against masked vigilantes. But now you have been given the chance to prove them wrong and help us."

_Help you, like letting Osborn's victims know their killer was gone._

Peter nodded. "You want to know everything about Osborn?"

"And about Octavius, and Brock and the black suit, and that Sandman guy and about all those petty crimes you helped stop in between."

"That's a lot of talking, Captain."

Stacy smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I guess neither am I." Peter sighed and dipped his donut in his coffee before biting it. "So where do you want me to start?"

Neither Peter nor the captain were aware of the forces arriving around them. Peter just knew his spider-sense was glaring and something – something bad – was coming.

Stacy seemed to consider it for a second. "The beginning would be nice. Why you decided to start doing this?"

Peter put his attention back on the captain. "Answering questions?" Peter mumbled halfway through his donut, anything for a delay.

Stacy picked it away from him, somehow being too fast and unexpected for Peter to stop him. 

Peter finally smiled. "I guess it all started with a girl..."

"The Watson girl?" Stacy asked, making a clear interruption of Peter's soliloquy. 

"How do you know about her?" Peter snapped, too defensive by far. 

"Peter... seriously, three separate superhuman assailants went after her to get to you in the past few years. Did you really think we wouldn't know her name?"

"Oh," Peter said, calming down. "Well, yeah. Her. Mary Jane. We..." he stopped himself. Was he ready to do this? Peter looked at Captain Stacy, and at his eyes. He nodded and continued. 

"We were on a school field trip. I... was taking her picture for the school paper. Next thing I know, there's this sharp pain on my hand. I look down, and there are two holes. Bite marks."

"What bit you?"

Peter smiled. "A spider."

"A... spider..." Stacy sat there stunned, refusing to believe it.. "A spider bite gave you spider powers. Please tell me it wasn't radioactive?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Peter asked. "I haven't seen the thing since it bit me."

"So… a _spider?"_

"It was a big spider," Peter answered a bit defensively

Stacy glared.

"It was a really, really big spider."

"You're not trying to be funny, are you?" Stacy asked.

"At a time like this?" Peter asked. 

Peter didn't think Stacy was buying it.

"No. One moment I'm a two bit weakling that got wedgies – even from the other nerds. The next I could lift cars."

His spider-sense again – it was like he was lifted out of his body and he could see through the keyhole, someone was coming, men in black.

"You lifted a car right after you got bit by that spider?"

Two men in black with guns. _Danger, Will Robinson._

"No, at first I got sick, really sick. I think I must have had a fever and ran a cold sweat all night. But when I woke up in the morning... I'd changed."

"Changed how?"

"I had muscles." Peter corrected himself, "I had muscles before, but not like _this_. I went from looking like a burst of wind could blow me over, to ... well, like I look now. I was seventeen at the time; it was right before... before my uncle was murdered."

"Peter... I'm sorry to bring this up, but port authorities said there was a second man in the warehouse. That someone went after the carjacker; the one that fell from the warehouse and died."

Peter fell back in memories. "It was my fault, I… I could have stopped him, earlier, right after he stole the money. I had him right in front of me, and I let him go, I even held the elevator open, because I was angry, because the promoter was refusing to give me my money. And he ran off and Uncle Ben died. It was my fault." His eyes went cold. "I broke his wrist. He had a gun on me. He stumbled backwards and fell. I didn't push him," he said very straightforwardly. "I've never killed anyone, not even when I thought he killed Uncle Ben."

Stacy nodded. "I believe you, Peter. I…"

He was stopped from continuing by a knock on the door. Before Stacy even got out of his seat to open it, two men barged into the room aiming their weapons and glares at Peter.

"Peter Parker?"

"Who wants to know?" Peter asked.

"The government."

"Oh."

_Oh, shit._


	4. I Fought The Law

2

3.

Peter still sat down, but he had grabbed hold of the desk and imprints of his thumbs started showing in the metal.

Captain Stacy stood up before he could do anything.. 

"What do you think you're doing – you have no right to interrupt this interrogation!" 

"The government has every right, sir."

Government, bland, open, it could be any agency in the letter soup that made up the intelligence community. Peter had seen the movies, he'd read the books, this kind of thing never read good for the hero.

"This is an interrogation?" the second fed asked mockingly, while glaring very obviously at the donuts and the coffee.

"What does it look like to you?" Stacy asked harshly. "Mr. Parker is not in custody, as there are no warrants for his alias. And even so, the government—"

"Captain, please," the first agent stopped him. 

"What does the government want with me?" Peter asked.

"To throw you in a cell and have you as their personal lab rat!" Stacy spat. "Mr. Parker is this city's mascot, for god's sake. He is not going anywhere."

"Mister Parker's condition," the first fed practically spat out the last word, "is most likely the result of a government sponsored experiment that was stopped years ago at Oscorp. As a result of that program, he belongs to the government, to make sure he is not a threat to the general population."

"A threat? He helps old ladies cross the street! He saves kids from burning buildings. He's not a threat!"

"Do you guys read the _Bugle?"_ Peter asked. They pretty much ignored him, focusing all their attention on the Captain. 

"Quiet, Peter." Stacy told him and Peter listened. It was easy to listen to the captain, he looked so much like Uncle Ben.

"Spider-Man has helped this city in more ways than you can count!"

"There is no proof that Mr. Parker simply arrived at the scene as he said or if he was in league with the criminals to gain—"

"To gain what? _Attention? Fame? Rocks thrown at me?"_ Peter interrupted. "If I wanted fame I'd go on _Oprah._ But I risk my neck every single day to help people. Why? I dunno. Call me crazy. But I have the power to help people. And I help them. It's my responsibility."

"Your responsibility?" the first fed asked. "We have cops to do that kind of thing!"

"Could the cops stop the Green Goblin? Doc Ock? Venom? Sandman?" Peter asked him.

"If you wanted to stop criminals, you should have joined police academy, like every other law-abiding citizen that wants to do so."

"Like they'd let me join once they found out I could stick to walls."

"Do you think this is a joke, you bastard? Good men died when Osborn went insane, what's to stop you from going the same way?"

How did they know this? How did they know any of this?

"I'm not insane! That's the difference!" Peter shouted. "I know what I'm doing and I am helping people, no matter what you want to believe."

"That serum that affected Osborn, that probably affected _you_, is government property. And that makes you property of the United States, until the authorities find a way to duplicate it."

"You have no means of testing him!" Stacy said. "Why are you feds so stubborn and blind about these things? I know we found that goblin stuff at the Osborn's place but that doesn't mean—"

"The Goblin and Spider-Man both emerged at the same time. Coincidence? Or proof that both of them were in league together and were both created by whatever serum Osborn whipped together."

"What serum?" Peter whispered. 

"Don't play dum Parker, we've read Osborn's journals, we know all about the serum, the animal experimentation, the gene splicing with the spiders.

Peter sat there stunned, for a second, wondering how much else Osborn had said in his journals. And what did his powers have to do with Osborn's?

Peter moaned. "You didn't even mention Harry. He had the glider, the pumpkin bombs – he was the _New _Goblin! How can you say I was affected by the serum and not Harry?"

"I didn't say that," the fed said. "But I will say that both Osborns are under full investigation." 

"I've been meaning to ask you about Harry as well," Captain Stacy said.

"I'm not saying anything with these guys here. Take your fancy suits and walk on outta here. They'll just twist my words and make me their lab rat. They're worse than Jameson!" Peter blurted out. Peter felt like he was caught in a trap, the captain might try and protect him, but what if there was nothing he could do? What if those guys took Peter and started experimenting on him? Would he ever be free again? He started to sweat. 

"Yeah, we don't need you to talk, Parker."

Peter tensed up, like a coil in a spring, ready to break at any moment.

One of the feds grabbed a pair of cuffs and was about ready to make a move towards Peter. Peter's spider-sense was blaring and Peter started looking at the one-way glass window. He didn't notice that both Captain Stacy and the other cop near the door that he hadn't even seen before were reaching for their guns, and neither of them were eying Peter; their eyes were hooked right on the feds.

"Hello."

All stared at the door and the red-haired man in it. He wore dark sunglasses that complimented his facial features. "I seem to be in the right place at least."

He was carrying a white cane and bumped it against the door. 

"Who are you?" one of the feds snapped

"I am Mathew Murdock, attorney at law. I've been hired by the state of New York to represent a Peter Benjamin Parker in the court of law."

"Court? I'm going to_ court_ now?" Peter asked. 

The lawyer smiled. "This will be a case no one's seen before. If I may have a moment alone with Mr. Parker, please?" he asked. Captain Stacy was happy to oblige. The feds, on the other hand, snarled, but finally relented and put their guns and cuffs away. Mr. Murdock waited until he heard the door close to speak.

"Mister Parker, as the city's semi-official mascot, the mayor felt it no more than understandable that we should come to your defense."

"They do?" That was a new one, he was used to coming to people's defense, not the other way around.

"Yes, they might not say it, but they're getting a lot of revenue from the tourist trade, merchants and so on, being the city of Spider-Man. If the city allowed said 'mascot' to be attacked and didn't interfere, the PR would be disastrous. In other words, they are covering their own backs."

_Yep, that's more believable._

"But I don't need a lawyer, do I?"

"You're a celebrity now, Mr. Parker. There will be people filing lawsuits against you just to be a nuisance and hoping to get you to pay up out of court. It's my job to make sure that doesn't happen."

"Lawsuits? People are _suing_ me now?"

Murdock nodded. "You have the owner of the apartment building that caught on fire on Thanksgiving, when the Goblin was still running around. He says you started it."

_When? I barely got the tenants out of that building_, he thought, but all he said was: "Figures."

"And then there's the biggest one: J. Jonah Jameson. He's suing you for the photos you took of yourself and sold to him."

"Oh, come on! Those practically tripled the amount of papers he sold. He should be paying me for letting him have them!" Peter snapped. "Paying me _more_, I mean." There was nothing left to do but shake his head. "Jameson is suing Spider-Man. Somehow that doesn't surprise me." 

"He's got a strong case. Have you read the paper today? His editorial is practically a full two pages."

"Yeah, I read the _Bugle_ in between interrogations and police escorts," Peter replied with added sarcasm.

"Peter... it's all right that I call you Peter?" Peter raised his hands in a motion of surrender. "Peter, the _Bugle's_ case right now is the only one that'll actually hold up in court. But we can deal with it – especially since I'm sure the _Bugle_ would probably not want the publicity for attacking the city's hero."

"You don't know Jameson, do you?"

"Personally?" Murdock asked.

"Or at _all?_ Jameson hates me. _Hates _Spider-Man. Why, I really don't know. He doesn't trust what I do, like a lot of people. He told me he trusts his _barber_ more than he trusts Spider-Man."

Murdock laughed. "Have you tried talking to him?"

It was Peter's turn to laugh. "Me with or without my costume, and him with or without a torch and pitchfork to start a mob? This is the man who saw me save his life and then accused me of attacking him."

"When the goblin attacked, you mean?" the lawyer asked.

"Yes. He's not willing to listen to reason. Half the articles he writes about me are lies, and the ones that have some truth in them are twisted so much that you'd need a looking glass to find those truths."

"So basically, he's been committing libel?"

"I called it slander, _but_..."

"That gives us an opening. If he goes after you for the pictures, we catch him on the lies he's spread about you."

"Could we really?" Peter sat there stunned – he hadn't even considered the possibility.

"I'd have to have my assistants check it out, but from what I've heard, I'm pretty sure we could. All we have to do is prove it. With your identity known, Peter, there is no reason you can't go after him for trying to force the opinion of the public against you. The law defends our reputations as well as our lives and property."

"And freedom of speech," Peter noted. 

"Freedom of press does not allow a newspaper to use lies to spread hatred and ruin someone's reputation without proof." 

"So... we can get him for using freedom of the press to the extreme?"

"You're not hiding behind a mask anymore, and that gives you every right to defend said reputation in a court of law."

"But I can't pay for that." 

"Peter, when I said the city sent me, I meant it. My bill is picked up by the mayor's office. See it as a thank you for saving the city from nuclear destruction. Believe me, compared to what you saved this city, the money they're paying me is nothing."

Peter couldn't move, his muscles were all tensed up and his eyes were dry.. "But I don't want to be famous."

"That's a first," Murdock said. "You don't have much of a choice."

"No," Peter said. "At one point I was thinking that. I wanted to make some money, so I entered this... wrestling contest. I was looking out for _me_. And, in the end, that fame that looked so good caused my uncle's death."

"I understand," Matt said.

"No. You really don't."

Murdock stood still for a second, a smile was playing on his face and Peter couldn't help wondering what the man was smiling about.

"So what's with the glasses inside?" Peter asked. "Trying to start a new fashion trend? Try bright red and blue tights. Soon everyone's doing it."

Murdock pulled off his glasses, showing blank, white pupils. Peter cringed. He really was stupid sometimes. 

"I'm sorry," Peter said.

"The cane wasn't hint enough, huh?"

Peter shook his head. But then he remembered that his lawyer was blind, so he spoke, "No. I... I guess not. I'm really, really sorry." Peter looked downwards. "I guess I was a bit... preoccupied. Sorry."

"Believe it or not, I understand. Your entire world just changed."

Peter swallowed. "Nothing is ever going to be the same again."

"Peter, things change. Change is scary, and we don't want it to happen. But everything changes." 

"I'm… I'm scared."

Matt felt across the table for Peter's hand. "I know. I'm scared for you. Peter, everything is going to change. But you're strong. You'll get through this."

"But what about my family? My aunt? What if my enemies go after her again?"

But Matt Murdock had no answers and neither did Peter. He wondered suddenly what MJ was doing, he hoped she was alright.

"Peter," Matt said. "My father died when I just a kid. It's why I became a lawyer, why I try to do the right thing, to make him proud. I do understand. I really do." 


	5. Chapter 5

4

4.

Carly could feel the gravel underneath her naked feet. The pain seared her soles but she knew she couldn't stop – if she stopped she was dead. He was right behind her. He had been for what felt like hours. No, not hours, it had been a few minutes at best, but she shivered in her thin nightshirt, her hair still tied up for the night. Her heart rolled around in her throat, thumping away madly.

_"Please, someone, anyone__, help me!"_ But the streets were empty – even during the daytime the area she'd been dropped off at was an abandoned warehouse district. Trucks passed by, but none of them seemed to even notice her. As if she were invisible, caught in some secret dimension just a step out of time.

_"Oh God, No! He's gonna kill me!" _

She'd been taken earlier that morning, lifted from her bed in the dorm, with a gun forced against her throat. She'd tried to do what the man said, tried to follow orders. Anything to survive, but then he let her go and told her to start running. She'd thought he'd been kidding, that maybe it was some kind of student prank. And then he started counting.

It was the counting that frightened her the most.

_"Sixty, fifty nine, fifty_" She started running then, running away from the glee and hunger on his face that told her he might well try to eat her. Away from the knife in his hands, and away from that empty stare in his eyes that looked at her like a bully did to a dog that he had just set on fire. So she ran, but he was already after her.

Carly had never run so fast in her entire life; her breath hitched as she gasped for air. She kept looking backwards, seeing the man following her with the blade extended. Just walking, taking his time, his red hair barely moving as his feet kept a steady, terrifying pace.

She realized then that he could have taken her out over a dozen times already; it was just that he hadn't had his fun yet. He was enjoying himself too much to end it, and that was the only thing still keeping her alive right now. _It was unfair, she'd never even met him. Why was he doing this to her? _

Carly was beyond tears at that point. She knew she'd be that night's headline if she didn't lose him and find a police officer, or somebody – anybody! Where was everyone? This was New York City, for god's sake. Didn't anyone see her? Where was Spider-Man, wasn't he supposed to protect people?

She wanted to stay on a main street, so that there was a chance someone would spot her. But that plan hadn't worked, as the madman was still tagging along with that look in his eyes. He was waiting, but his patience was wearing. He wanted blood.

And then she tripped. So stupid – so very, _very _stupid. She tried to get up, but he was already there.

She didn't even have time to scream.

And the murderer felt the wet blood pouring onto his hands from her throat. And he sank down and licked the flesh, feeling the warmth fade under his tongue. Blood had a distinct smell, he had once noted. It was like nothing else. He really didn't care what happened to the body. Or who found it.

He didn't even know who the woman was. Except that he had claimed her life, and once he spotted his target there was not a person in the world that could keep him from it.

He'd followed her the night before, waited for her to go to bed and had taken her then. No one had even realized she was gone. She was the quiet type – unassuming, the type that nobody notices. Her roommate might not even notice she was missing, too busy partying to even care that the bed next to her hadn't been made.

He licked the blade clean. He tasted her blood, sweet nectar; there was simply no way to describe just how good this was. To be like a master of creation, making the choice between life and death and picking either on a whim. To these fools he was a god, a true God in every meaning of the word, and yet Spider-Man had once dared to deny him that honour.

Spider-Man had taken him in to the authorities, but the masked vigilante had been too stupid to see what kind of a fish he'd really caught in those webs of his. He'd caught a shark and treated him as if he were a goldfish. All the red and blue clad boy scout had seen was the thief, not the bringer of death and destruction. It was sheer humiliation. The murderer hadn't minded prison; it was just a sign of respect to see them fear him. And it was just that fear that the wallcrawler had denied him. 

Prison was a struggle for power. It was a jungle where the strong thrived and the weak were ground beneath the deserving's feet. Strong and weak there were labels, and murderers stood on the top of the heap, but thieves, that's a whole other story. And when he had been sentenced due to a theft and not a murder, he did not receive the recognition he deserved from those who should have been looking up to him. The recognition he should have had. 

Spider-Man had caught him with stolen women's clothing, that of his victims. But the wall crawler had not seen the real reason he had the undergarments in the first place, and he merely saw him as the average pervert that liked to cross dress. The others who shared the prison with him had _loved _that. They had mocked him, treated him like he was a little boy caught out of line... he dragged in a deep breath, caught it in an iron grip and held on to it before forcing it back out.

If Spider-Man had seen that the panties he'd 'stolen' were actually evidence to a murder, he would have been the king of that prison. _King!_

Instead he had been a nobody. A joke, which was worse than a nobody.

And Spider-Man would pay, by God! The masked monster would pay!


	6. Chapter 6

5

5.

As a native New Yorker, Mary Jane Watson hadn't even bothered to try and get a cab, she knew it was faster and safer to hoof it, than it was to try and get a cab. Especially after what had happened last night.

Mary Jane was not running, but was not walking either. The streets of New York City were often too crowded for running. But she quickened her pace all the same, her red hair blowing behind her as she faced the brisk wind. The police station was only two blocks away now. 

As an actress, she was noticed on the streets, though rarely. And now that Peter's biggest secret was out in the air, floating and waiting for anyone who had a TV or computer to grab it, it was only a matter of time before her face was stamped as "Spider-Man's girlfriend."

She still didn't know how they had managed to keep her name out of the press the first time she'd been kidnapped to be used against Peter. The second time... Jonah had left her out of the article at John's request. But what would happen now? No one was looking out for either of them.

She was wearing a baseball cap and a shirt that John had left behind at her apartment. She was almost grateful she'd never found the time to return it to him. She did not want Peter to see her in such disarray, but she couldn't pretend she was all right. And neither could he.

She passed a newsstand, and hanging on racks outside its wooden frame were copies of nearly every major paper, with the face of Spider-Man plastered on its cover. "_Spider-Man Revealed!" "The Face Of The Hero!" "Spider-Man Unmasked!"_ The headlines attacked her and made it hard to breathe. And then there was a picture herself on the bottom left of the _National Enquirer_. The headline that ran above her face was, _"Behind the Hero's Sweetheart."_ She felt all the strength go out of her knees then.

The guy behind the counter didn't really pay attention to her; he was busy with another client. "I can't believe he's just a kid. My own boys are older than him!"

Mary Jane turned her head, afraid of being noticed. She just wanted to get to the police station and try to begin to sort things out. Or at least, try to figure out how to begin.

"Just a college student. I wish my own kids showed that much community spirit," the other man answered.

_Well__, that's one way of seeing it, _Mary Jane thought to herself. "I guess the girls throwing themselves at him can't hurt either. In between that blonde chick he saved, or the redhead, I'd almost be _tempted_ to start wearing spandex to have girls run at me. 'Cause,_ whoa,_ _momma..."_

Mary Jane was tempted to turn around and tell the two men off, and saying that they were disgusting pigs. But they were New Yorkers. What else could one expect?

"Man, if you were wearing spandex the girls would start running all right. The hell away from you, that is."

Mary Jane bit her lip. _Don't say anything, don't say anything_, she thought. She desperately tried to hold back a snicker, then quickly paid for her paper and went on her way. She had decided not to buy the _Daily Bugle._ She was tempted to, but she did not. Instead she opted for the _New York Times,_ because it seemed to ask that most important of questions... where had the footage revealing Spider-Man's identity come from?

Mary Jane read on as she walked, careful not to bump into anyone. The paper stated that a disc had been dropped off anonymously to a local news station. The footage showed the fight between Spider-Man, Venom, and Sandman. And clearly, when Venom had ripped the mask off of Spider-Man's head, he had not been the only one to see his face.

No network had claimed the actual footage, It was clear that it had been made by professional cameras, rather than some amateur's accidental shot. Accidental shots were often blurry and unfocused, and always so shaky that the face could not be identified. But the screenshot in the papers could see the face, all right. Peter's face was right there. His bloody, bruised, beaten face. It showed Peter in all his humanity and the papers already hailed it as the news photo of the year. All Mary Jane could see was the boy she loved in pain.

There were some more articles – one of them was making an attempt at describing Peter's life. Lost his parents in a plane crash at age 5, raised by his aunt and uncle, his uncle shot by a burglar when he was 17...

Mary Jane took a deep breath, as she realized that life truly was not fair. Peter was such a good kid. And after his life had been a mess, he tried to do something good for the city. And look where that got him now. The police cars and throngs of people showed Mary Jane was getting closer to the station. The article had been making the assumption that Peter's fight against crime was in revenge over losing his uncle. But Mary Jane knew better. Oh, it might have been, she knew that too, but Peter would have never kept going as he did, if vengeance had been his only purpose. That's not how his aunt had raised him.

Aunt May had honestly done a wonderful job with Peter. She had raised a superhero! Mary Jane wondered how she was doing, and if all this had sunk in yet. She had tried calling her, but the phone line had been busy. Maybe May had taken the phone off the hook, to give herself some space. Or maybe she was bombarded with phone calls, as Mary Jane was sure everyone would be. She was afraid to check her answering machine when she returned home.

Mary Jane wondered how she could possibly get into the station. Will all the press outside she really didn't want to go through the mass of it. The mob outside the station was insane; Mary Jane had never seen anything like it. People had no respect for their hero. She thought people would care and try to help him. But no, they had their camera phones out and tried to get something he touched so they could sell it on eBay.

Mary Jane glanced at the station windows, and inside she saw none other than that blonde girl, Gwen Stacy. Mary Jane tilted her head so he could see inside better. Gwen was speaking with her father. Mary Jane was filled with a moment of contempt for the girl who had kissed Peter too, but right now Mary Jane knew she was her best bet. She went up to the window and banged frantically with her fist.

At first Gwen and her father seemed to ignore her; she knocked again, hoping not to attract too much attention to herself from the press. The captain seemed to be coming her way, he looked angry. Mary Jane backed up a bit and it was then that Stacy recognized her. Mary Jane mouthed, "Get me in!" Gwen understood instantly, and tapped her father on the shoulder. Within seconds, he and Gwen were at the top of the stairs, calling Mary Jane and ordering everyone else to part so she could get through.

Neither Mary Jane or Gwen said a thing as they walked further into the station. They were beyond words. Mary Jane nodded at Captain Stacy, who was about to speak before she asked him, "Can I see Peter?"

"I'm afraid he's talking to his attorney right now." And then she noticed him looking away to two black clad men waiting at the back of the hall – they looked furious. The Captain didn't say a word, but the anger in his eyes when looking at the two men told Mary Jane all that she needed to know. They were a threat to Peter, and interrupting Peter and that lawyer now might endanger him.

Gwen looked at Mary Jane and smiled. Mary Jane was still wearing sort of a scowl, and it was harder to break out of that facial mold than she thought it would be. When Mary Jane looked at Gwen, a harsh voice ran through her head, screaming, _"You kissed Peter. You slut, you kissed my boyfriend."_

But then Mary Jane looked at Gwen's eyes. They were tearing up. Because she cared about Peter, too. Mary Jane quietly asked her if she wanted to go into a different room, and Gwen led the way. Once they were alone, she turned around and told Mary Jane what her father had just told her. That some government agency wanted Peter, that they claimed he was their property and connected to the serum that drove Norman Osborn insane. Osborn, the Green Goblin, she'd heard it from Peter, but now everyone would know. Poor Harry, it took her a second to remember that Harry was gone. And then Gwen told her that Peter was being sued by numerous people, though none had a strong case.

Mary Jane just stood there. She couldn't believe it. How could anyone in their right mind want to hurt Peter, want to stop him from helping people? How could their own government even consider going after him?

"Is this for real?" Mary Jane asked. "This is actually happening? Oh my gosh... Peter..."

"But my dad said that the mayor is protecting him. New York may have its faults, but they won't let anyone harm their hero."

"Oh, and all the newspapers and radio stations and newscasts flaunting his name, that's not harming him?"

"Those are just papers, Mary Jane," Gwen said. "They're like kids gossiping about the most popular kid in school. They're proud of him; they want to spread the news. They just don't realize the harm they're doing."

Mary Jane wasn't quite sure she could agree with that.

Gwen said, "My father said Peter's being taken somewhere safe, out of a back, less crowded exit. The police are looking out for him, at least."

Mary Jane snorted. "As if."

"They are, my dad wouldn't lie about that."

Mary Jane wished she could be so trusting.

"So what do we do now?" Mary Jane asked Gwen, as if she cared about her opinion.

Gwen looked at her with pale eyes and said, "Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?"

The question was so out of place, Mary Jane nearly stumbled backwards. "Coffee?" she repeated. 

"Yes. Caffeine drenched in water, with possibly some milk and sugar." Gwen smiled. Mary Jane couldn't stop herself from smiling and agreed. They sat there in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, both of them sipping a Styrofoam cup of coffee that made Enrique's product taste edible. "So, how long have you known?" Gwen faced her with wide-open innocent eyes.

Mary Jane figured that there was no reason not to be honest, since all the world now would know anyway. "I always suspected it, sort of. After I kissed Spider-Man and then Peter shortly afterwards. But it wasn't until Doctor Octavius took me hostage that I saw Spider-Man without his mask..." Mary Jane's voice trailed off, as memories leaked from her mind and flooded her vision. She could remember everything about that moment so perfectly. Peter standing there, he seemed so small and big at the same time. The hero and the little boy that used to stare at her in school, that she pretended to ignore because she knew Flash would only go after him harder if she did smile back.

Mary Jane was jolted out of her memory by a touch on her hand. She blinked back into reality, and saw Gwen's hand stretched across the table, holding hers. "That must have been terrifying."

"It was, at first, but then Peter showed up and I knew that I, that all of us were safe. That he'd keep us safe." Mary Jane told her. Gwen didn't say anything. Mary Jane didn't give her the time to. "Do you think he'll still keep us safe?" she asked.

"I hope so," Gwen said. "What is New York City without Spider-Man?"

"It's a hell hole, that's what!" Captain Stacy added in loudly as he walked into the room.

Gwen turned around to face her father. _"Dad!"_ she exclaimed.

"Sorry, hon. I'm just so annoyed at these people! Spider-Man deserves better than this!" 

He helped himself to a sip of his daughter's cheap coffee. 

Mary Jane nodded, forcing herself to take another sip. She added some milk, hoping it would help the taste. It didn't. "Is Peter going to be in trouble?" she asked him.

"I honestly can't say for sure. He's got one hell of a lawyer. But people are after him. People who have power."

"What do you mean by that?" Mary Jane asked him.

"Anywhere from law offices to secret government agencies, people want a piece of Spider-Man."

"But why?"

"As far as we know, Miss Watson, Peter is unique. His body chemistry, his powers, they scare people because he can do things that humans should not be able to do. There's no doubt that some people in the government would love to find a way to duplicate his abilities and make some kind of super soldier. Hell, people have been trying to do that since before Captain America disappeared at the end of the war." He thought a few seconds, "Add to that the fact that he's a celebrity, and people would try to sue him, just because they seem to think that being a celebrity means he's probably rich."

_"Peter? Rich?" _Mary Jane couldn't help a chuckle from escaping. "He can barely pay his rent! He keeps losing jobs because he spends most of his time saving people."

"And now the_ Bugle's _going to be on his ass, for sure," the Captain said.

"You got that right," a man said as he entered. He was using a walking stick to get himself around, and that plus his sunglasses showed that he was blind. "The_ Bugle_ has the strongest case against him at the moment."

"Uh... and you are?" Mary Jane asked.

"I'm Matt Murdock, I'll be defending Peter on behalf of the city."

"Don't be fooled by his blindness, he's one of the best lawyers in the city, Miss Watson."

"Wait, you've talked to Peter?" Mary Jane asked. Her entire tone of voice had changed. 

"Where is he? Can I see him?"

"He left already, I'm sorry," Matt said. "I'm not sure where he is going now, but the police made sure he was escorted out safely and without any cameras in his face."

"I just wanted to talk to him." Mary Jane said, somewhat sad and defeated. It had been the whole reason she'd come here, to talk to Peter. "How is he?" she asked.

"His voice was shaky, I am not going to lie," the lawyer said. "But he's a strong kid. He can pull through this."

"It's easy for you to say. You don't have to deal with this whole thing," Mary Jane mumbled, a little irritated.

_Let's hope not,_ Matt thought.

Mary Jane turned away from him, heading for the door before anyone could stop her. 

She'd almost forgotten about the cameras until they were pushed into her face. Dozens, no hundreds of questions all at once, and all of them about Peter. She refused to answer them at all.

She was pushed around in the throng, unprotected by police officers. Her eyes teared up, and she was scared. "Shut up," she said, trying to break free. "Shut _up,"_ she said louder._ "Shut the hell up!" _she cried, running down the block, her mascara bleeding down her face. Suddenly someone grabbed her hand, she turned back and noticed it was the blind lawyer, Murdock. He somehow managed to lead her through the throng of people and up to a taxi cab.

She looked at him in awe. "Could you bring her to wherever she wants to go, sir?" Matt asked the driver once he had rolled down the window. The cabbie looked at her and seemed to recognize her. "Wait! Hey, isn't she Spider-Man's girl?"

Murdock didn't answer. He was taking out some money from his wallet.

"Don't worry about paying me, man!" the driver said. "Spidey saved my kid's life once! There's no way I'd ever accept money from anyone connected to_ 'im!"_

Mary Jane, who had been ready to deck the cabbie once he commented about her being "Spider-Man's girl," actually managed to smile. She was halfway into the cab when she turned to Matt. "Thank you," she said. She shut the door and the taxi pulled away, its tires spinning at first but then merging into the traffic that was New York City. As she stared out the window she wondered, though, was that what she was going to be for the rest of her life? Just some accessory of Spider-Man's, like Lois Lane, not known for her own accomplishments, but for the man she was dating?

Was that really worth it? Was Peter worth that?


End file.
